


Nothing's really happened, anyway

by smilodonna



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Canon-Typical Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, Just One Two being One Two really, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilodonna/pseuds/smilodonna
Summary: This is basically just One Two panicking about his own feelings. Cause I like that man to suffer a bit, he deserves it. He hurt our Bob, after all.It turned out quite fluffy regardless.





	Nothing's really happened, anyway

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so I‘ll be grateful for any corrections or suggestions (especially regarding the slang, cause obviously that‘s not what they taught us in school …)  
Anyway, I‘m ridiculously late to the party, so I just hope anyone‘s gonna read this at all ...

Mumbles has planned this. He must have. Sure as hell, the bastard has set him up, and now One Two is fuming. Bloody meddling fucker, Mumbles. Everything the bugger‘s done this evening was part of his evil masterplan. The icing on the cake being that phone call that made him suddenly leave the flat – fake, evidently. One Two has never seen Mumbles so in love that he‘d drop everything at his girl‘s call. Fucking suspicious is what it is.

And now One Two‘s stuck here. Perhaps the most infuriating thing is this calm and annoyingly amused voice inside his head that keeps telling him that nothing‘s really happened, anyway, and he should just get a grip. Since when does his own mind sound like fucking Mumbles? And while nothing may have happened for an outsider to notice, there _is_ a shit load of stuff happening right now, namely One Two skittering further towards utter madness by the second.

Look at him, sitting on the floor between the neatly marked boxes with all his earthly belongings, hugging his knees and staring with bloodshot eyes. And what is he staring at? Take a wild guess. Fucking Handsome Bob of course, curled up on his, One Two‘s, mat, sleeping like a baby and snoring softly. Now, better not use a word like „softly“ around One Two, or he might just snap. He‘s not far from snapping either way, as it is.

But what is the problem anyway? If Bob‘s presence is so annoying, why not just wake him up and throw him out?

Thing is, he has tried to wake him up. It didn‘t work. It would probably work, if he dared to say Bob‘s name just a tad louder, or, god forbid, touch his shoulder to shake him up. He is like a rabbit caught in the headlights, wanting Bob to leave but at the same time dreading the moment he wakes up. Cause he is too afraid to even think of what might happen when he wakes up.

Though honestly, odds are Bob‘s just gonna give him one last drunk, pining look and stagger out. But what if … what if… No, he doesn‘t dare go there. Instead, he keeps rocking on his heels, staring at his sleeping pal, making himself comfortable in his panic and his self-pity. Isn‘t he fucking pathetic.

But how, exactly, did he end up in this situation in the first place? Let‘s take a step or two back.

After he had been tied up in his own bed as prey for the big dogs to fight over, One Two had decided to move out. His flat would just never feel like home again, it would always smell of the Russians‘ blood and his own sweat and piss to him. Took him a while to admit that to himself, and of course he made up an excuse for every one else – something about the flat falling apart cause the landlord couldn‘t be arsed to lift a finger (there was at least some truth in that). Unsurprisingly, Mumbles read him like a book, but at least he had the decency to keep his deductions to himself. Anyway, One Two was glad to find this nice little flat a few blocks away – with Cookie‘s help, of all people. Probably one of his customers had died in there. One Two didn‘t ask one question too many, it didn‘t matter to him anyway, he just wanted to leave his old place that felt too much of a trap now.

His two best mates helped him move. He didn‘t keep much of the old furniture, better to redecorate thoroughly while he was at it. He could afford a new bed and stuff now. Still, there were quite a few heavy boxes to carry, and when they had finally moved all of his stuff, they slumped down on the ground between piles of boxes, knackered.

And this is where he should have thanked the boys with a pointed yawn and promised they‘d be his guests next time at the Speeler … But Mumbles had already found the box with his DVDs, started to set up the TV and ordered Bob to find the box with the booze - „I think I heard something clink in one of those by the window, Bob. One Two owes us after this, right?“ - before he could even say a word. So he spread out his camping mat with a blanket and a few pillows on top for them to sit on, with some boxes as a makeshift back rest, cause he didn‘t want to look ungrateful. And it might actually be nice to relax with the boys and watch a movie together, they hadn‘t done that in quite a while.

Without much arguing they settled on „X-Men“, Mumbles seemed keen on watching the movie and the others didn‘t mind. One Two had watched it once or twice before, but never sober enough or with his mind really on what was happening on the screen, so he didn‘t remember much.

He was rather proud that it took him only a couple of minutes to find some crisps – he really had been thorough in sorting his stuff and marking the boxes. However, what he saw when he returned with the snacks soured his mood. Handsome Bob was sitting on one end of the mat, pretending to be occupied with a hangnail, while Mumbles on the other end gave One Two a provocative smirk. Great. Of course they‘d make him sit in the middle, just to rile him up. He returned Mumbles‘ look seemingly unimpressed, or at least he hoped it would look like that. Yeah, crap, who was he fooling? Anyway, he sat down right in the middle. Not an inch closer to Mumbles, the bastard, he wouldn‘t avoid touching Bob so obviously. No way he was giving fucking Mumbles that satisfaction. But shit, they _were_ sitting close.

Watching the movie wasn‘t as fun as it could have been – sitting tensely between two guys he didn‘t want to touch any more than what was absolutely inevitable didn‘t make their makeshift „couch“ any more comfortable. And he certainly hadn‘t noticed before how much this Wolverine-guy put his beefy torso on display. Oh shit. Did that have an effect on Bob? Shuddering, One Two risked a stealthy side glance. Bob seemed to be much more interested in the remnants of schnapps in the bottle he was holding than in the movie. He already looked completely wasted. One Two tried to remember how much had been in that bottle when they had started the movie. Well, enough for Handsome Bob, it seemed. His head was lolling from one side to the other, but he was all smiles when he noticed One Two looking at him. Why did he smile so goddamn much? Didn‘t it hurt? Okay, maybe One Two was a bit tipsy, too, by now. His thoughts were starting to get weird.

And then Mumbles‘ phone rang. He jumped up like a fucking jack in the box and left the room, only to stick his head back in a moment later. „Sorry boys, I gotta go. I had promised Jess I‘d come over.“ Or was it Tess? Jenny? Amanda? One Two had never bothered to learn the names of Mumbles‘ girlfriends, they never lasted long anyway. Though Mumbles seemed unusually keen on keeping this one.

He saw Mumbles to the door, not taking his sudden departure amiss at all. Only Bob left to throw out now and then he could finally go to sleep. And there he made the next and crucial mistake of the evening. Instead of marching right back to Bob - „Let‘s call it a night, mate, you could do with getting your head down as well as me“ - he made a detour to take a leak, and when he returned, Bob was already fast asleep.

So here they are, One Two sitting on the floor and Bob curled up on his camping mat, the only place One Two had to sleep this night, for he‘s had to throw away his furniture, hasn‘t he. He‘s wanted a clean slate, as if there ever could be a clean slate, and now he is stuck here with Handsome Fucking Bob sleeping the sleep of the just on his only mat _and_ his only blanket while he himself is doomed to die of sleep deprivation, and isn‘t that a great way to christen his new flat.

Now get a grip, One Two, no one dies from one sleepless night. Yeah, but it fucking feels like it, and anyway, _one_ night? It‘s not like he‘s gotten to close his freaking eyes a lot lately. And sleep isn‘t even the real problem here, now is it. It‘s his best mate lying there, fucking sighing in his sleep. Next thing he‘ll start mumbling and One Two will hear his own name if his luck holds. Now don‘t think of what he might be dreaming of, don‘t, there must be something else for you to think of, anything.

He finally manages to move, if only to pull out the whisky bottle from the bottom of the box. He‘s been saving it for a special occasion. Well, it won‘t get any more special than this, he reckons, unscrews it and takes a healthy draught. Or not so healthy, but it feels like bloody medicine.

One Two focuses on the burning in his throat, welcomes it. He takes smaller sips now, moving the liquid around in his mouth for a bit before he swallows. This is some fine stuff, really, and he feels the tension slowly leave his body.

After a while, he lies down on the floor, his head on the one pillow Bob didn‘t manage to hog. It‘s certainly not comfortable, but right now he doesn‘t care, about nothing.

When he wakes up again what have to be a couple of hours later, his back hurts like hell, one-upping even his head in that regard. With a grunt, he sits up, wincing at the pins and needles in his left leg and at the sounds his joints make. Beside him, Bob is still sleeping. He watches him for a while, musing. How can this guy have caused him to lose it so completely yesterday – and just by falling asleep? This is Handsome Bob, his best mate, they‘ve known each other for years. They‘ve slept side by side without anything happening, just like they‘ve done so many times before. So what if Bob is a p… gay. Why would that change a thing, he didn‘t suddenly turn towards liking boys two weeks ago, did he. He‘s always been like this, and it‘s never been a problem. It‘s just that One Two didn‘t notice.

Could he have? Should he have? Mumbles knows, has known for heaven knows how long, but then Mumbles is fucking psychic. Still, there must have been signs.

One Two lets a scrutinising gaze wander over his sleeping pal. He looks soft, but who doesn‘t when he‘s asleep? One Two knows there is a fighter hidden in these shabby, oversized clothes. Is that why Bob keeps wearing this baggy clobber? Cause he feels he has to hide all the time? Suddenly One Two feels his stomach tighten. He has hurt his best mate, badly. No matter how wide Bob‘s grin, the insecurity and hurt shine through. One Two feels it now looking back at every time they‘ve talked since that night that was supposed to be Bob‘s last one as a free man. Bob had trusted him and he had betrayed that trust and hurt him. These are the fucking facts. And still, Handsome Bob keeps smiling and grinning and playing it all as a joke, cause that‘s what he always does. No wonder he got plastered so quickly last night. One Two would have done the same, if the roles were reversed. He doesn‘t dare linger on that thought, though. The roles reversed. The idea of him having a crush on Bob, or whatever it is Bob feels for him – better not go there.

He goes on searching for clues that might have given away Bob‘s sexuality. Does being gay make your lashes grow? Oh, come on, One Two, now you‘re just being ridiculous. Again. But those lashes, really, he is sure it should be illegal for a man to have lashes like that. And though he knows since their dance that Bob‘s short hair and his not-stubble-anymore-but-not-yet-full-beard are not as soft as they look like – they still make him look a bit like a puppy. A little bit. Is that One Two calling him cute? Surely not. For one thing, One Two is straight. Oh yes, he is. And the other thing is, he remembers that fight Bob and Mumbles had two years ago. It‘s just not good for your health to call Handsome Bob cute.

He still looked very young then with his bum fluff cheeks, and one night he was requested to show his ID to enter a club. Mumbles kept teasing him about it for weeks, until Bob snapped and gave him a black eye. They made up soon, after a long talk in private at the back of the Speeler. Neither of them brought up the subject again (except for Mumbles giving Handsome Bob a T-shirt a couple of weeks later with a snarling Yorkshire Terrier and the line „I am NOT cute“ on it, whereupon Bob only rolled his eyes and suggested he‘d better give that one to Johnny.) Their behaviour was different from then on, though, but never obvious enough for One Two to put his finger on it. He still had the impression they shared some sort of secret. Well, now he has a strong suspicion of its content.

One Two‘s gaze flickers to Bob‘s mouth. No. Maybe better look at his ear. Bob sleeps on his left side, so it‘s the right ear One Two sees, the one that sticks out just a tad more, the one that has this peculiar shape at the top, as if it wanted to grow some kind of pointy. One Two can‘t deny two things any longer: a) He is suspiciously familiar with the shape of his best mate‘s ears and b) Those ears do look cute, especially the right one. Hell, it seems that even ears aren‘t safe to look at, after all, not Bob‘s in any case.

While part of his brain is busy fighting down another panic attack, another part says „fuck it“ and makes his eyes go back to Bob‘s mouth. To his slightly open, plush lips. Very plush, indeed. One Two nearly jumps as those lips twitch and break into Handsome Bob‘s signature grin.

„Shouldn‘t _I_ be the creepy perv staring at _you_ in your sleep, eh?“ Bob teases, his voice hoarse with sleep.

„It‘s amazing how your brain goes from sleep to talking shit in the split of a second“, One Two answers, already getting up as fast as he can. He might as well look for the box with the kitchen stuff, there‘s no way they‘re getting back to sleep now. And he just can‘t sit next to Bob one second longer.

Bob‘s voice calls him back, sounding concerned. „Wait, where did _you_ sleep, mate?“

„Didn‘t you know I‘m a vampire?“ he quips back over his shoulder, „We don‘t sleep.“

„Oh shit, sorry. I stole your mat. Why didn‘t you wake me?“ Bob mumbles.

One Two prefers to ignore the question. „Coffee?“ he asks instead in a futile attempt at a casual tone.

„You sure you‘re not too straight to drink coffee with me?“ Bob teases, cause he just can‘t let it fucking be, now can he.

One Two isn‘t sure of anything anymore, if he‘s honest. But what good has honesty ever done a man, anyway. „Shut up, Bob“, he retorts. It comes out sounding way too fond.

**Author's Note:**

> But he does have cute ears, doesn't he ...


End file.
